A plush toy has more significance than many realize. The comfort it provides, the memories instilled in its ragged fur. Stuffed fabric being cradled in the arms of children, embracing its small body as they drift into slumber. You may think my prized possession would be a medal, or an autographed novel, but it is not. It is Monkey.
Monkey was the first stuffed animal I cared for. Before the age of two or three, I could do without stuffed animals. They were alright, sure, but nothing special. But when I saw Monkey on my trip to the Philadelphia Zoo, something shifted in my brain. I had to have him. I begged my mother and she bought him from the gift shop.
My life was forever changed.Wherever I went, Monkey went too. To the playground, Grandmom Swift’s house, the campground, even Disney World. We went on adventure after adventure and had a blast! He never left my side, other than when I accidentally left him at Home Depot. I cried. But within the hour, my plush pal had returned to my presence. We were inseparable!
Until I started going to school. But that did not mean Monkey was not near and dear to my heart. I crudely drew him in my kindergarten writing notebooks with my Crayola. I wrote stories about him in the jungle, with his family, becoming a rockstar or a knight. I desperately tried to capture the places we shared in my imagination when I played with him.
In my mind, Monkey was a rascal. A funny guy who got up to some monkey business. His favorite film was “The Jungle Book”. I would put it in the tiny DVD player in my room and we would watch it after school. He was a plush toy, but he was my best friend.
Even as I grew older, and drew apart from my dependence on Monkey, I still loved him to death. He is my constant, the one thing that has been there for me in this chaotic and crazy world. Friends have come and gone, tears have been shed—hell, I moved from Frankford to Voorhees. Yet here he stays.
Monkey holds a central place on my bed, and I am unashamed to admit that I sleep holding him every night. His fur is worn but has a sense of warmth. He reminds me that I am not alone, that I am cared for and loved, and that, no matter what happens, I will always get through it.
Although Monkey has a very un-original name, and is an old timer, he is the thing that I cherish the most. No matter where life takes me, or how bananas it gets, I always know that he is with me.
